Black Dragon, Black Cat

by Brian Edwards

  “I do not care what Grand Master Bai Chen says,” replied the girl. “I want to learn to fight, and I will teach myself if no one else will! I will be a great champion someday!”

  Xieng-gui looked at her incredulously, as he could not imagine anyone questioning the wisdom of Bai Chen. “Girl, you are wasting your time,” he said in a condescending tone. “Girls cannot master kung fu. They are too weak and dull-witted to perform the movements correctly. You should go back to your gardening and be content with your life.”

  This statement enraged the girl. All of her feelings of jealousy and of being unloved overwhelmed her senses, and she rushed the boy and tried to push him to the ground. “You’re an idiot!” she screamed at him. “You don’t know anything about anything!”

  The boy twisted sideways as she pushed against his chest. He caught her right arm as she fell past him, and twisted it behind her back as he followed her to the ground with his knee on her back. The twisted arm he pulled upward by the wrist, sending a sharp stinging pain into the girl’s shoulder. He began to laugh.

  “What do you think of that?” he said. “Do you feel like a great kung fu master now?”

  The girl began to cry. “Let me go!”, she pleaded between sobs.

  Xieng-gui gave her twisted arm another sharp pull, then let go and stood up with a final chuckle. “I’m going to go tell Grand Master Bai Chen right now,” he said as he walked away.

  The girl sobbed on the ground for several minutes, saying to herself over and over again, “I can be a kung fu master! I know I can! I know I can!”

  After several minutes, she sat up and rubbed the tears from her eyes. Her determination was ten-fold what it had been in the past. Without a moment’s further thought or hesitation, she ran down to the high gate in the outer wall, and fled out into the night vowing never to enter the monastery again.

  It was soon thereafter when the monks realized that she was gone. They gathered a party to search for her and bring her back, but Grand Master Bai Chen called them back as they were about to pass through the main gate. “There is no need to search for her,” he said to them. “She will find her own way back here, or follow another path on the way to enlightenment. She has a destiny to meet. Who are we to say that she will find it here?”

  Many within the monastery thought her departure was for the best, as women did not belong there in the first place.

  A chance encounter?

  After passing through the main gate, the girl threw herself madly down the mountain. The night was very dark with the new moon drooping in the sky, and it was no small wonder that she did not fling herself off the mountainside, so great was her speed and recklessness. Yet at length she finally stumbled to the bottom of the mountain, with her chest heaving mightily from the unusual exertion and emotional trauma. She fell to the ground on her hands and knees, gasping for breath in the misty air. Once again, she began to sob, realizing for the first time that she was now completely alone in the world, and must make her own way through it. This was quite a frightening thing to think about for a girl of six years. For a very brief instant, the girl considered returning to the monastery; however, dogged determination and self-pride quickly replaced this notion with the will to continue forward, to meet whatever destiny awaited her. She arose from the ground, dusted herself off, and began the long journey toward her unknown destination.

  The girl wandered through the province for an unknown number of days with no clear idea in mind of which direction to head. Indeed, she did not really even possess the concept of direction, since she had spent her entire life inside the walls of the monastery. With no navigational skills, her travels became aimless, and after several days she began to experience excruciating hunger, as she had not the foresight to pack food before she set out. She drifted through tiny villages and saw juicy fruits and vegetables growing in the gardens of the peasants, but could not bring herself to beg for food or attempt to steal it. She ate small beetles and grasshoppers, since she had no hunting skills. She chewed on the bitter roots of sassafras trees, which turned her stomach sour but provided a small amount of nourishment.

  How many days passed in this fashion was unknown to the girl. It seemed to her that an eternity had passed since she had fled from the monastery. The days began to flow together like streams flowing into a river. Her strength continued to wane each day, as the lack of proper nourishment began to take its toll on her body.

  One morning, nearing exhaustion, she threw herself down on a grassy embankment overlooking a small green pond that was surrounded by willow trees. She slept there the entire day without stirring, and awoke at sunset with a severe pang of hunger in her belly and a great thirst in her throat. She looked around for something edible, but could find nothing, so she wobbled toward the pond and lay down on her belly under a willow tree on the bank. She cupped her hands and drank several mouthfuls of the distasteful green water, only to begin vomiting violently several minutes later. Once again, for what seemed like the millionth time since she ran through the gates of the monastery, the girl began to weep uncontrollably.

  “That water is not fit for people, little lady,” came a crinkled old voice from behind the girl. “You should drink from the stream on the other side of the hill.”

  The girl stopped crying immediately, and jerked her head up and around to see the figure of a man who had crept noiselessly up behind her. She jumped to her feet, and then stared deferentially down at the ground while inhaling great gasps of air through her nostrils to dry the tears that had drained there. Yet she pushed her eyes to the top of her eyelids so that she could discretely look at the bent and aged figure standing before her.

  The old man who stood before the girl was not noteworthy in any way, other than the fact that he had an unusually large number of years behind him. He was wrinkled and bald, with several discolored teeth, and a little white wisp of a beard hung from his chin. He looked to be of a small, frail stature with his back bent over his walking stick, and he wore the garb of a simple peasant. He leaned down with some difficulty, and then used his stick to lower himself to the ground in front of the girl, where he crossed his legs. He took the girl’s chin in his hand, and raised her head so they could look into each other’s eyes.

  “Why are you here by yourself, so far out into the country?” he asked the girl. “Have you become separated from your parents?”

  The girl shook her head and looked back down at the ground. The old man again raised her chin with his hand and their eyes met for the second time. After staring into her eyes for several moments, the old man said, “You are not lost, are you child? You are here by your own choice, although you know not where you are.”

  The girl tried to turn her gaze back to the ground, but this time the old man stopped her and would not let her retreat. “What was so wrong with your life that you chose to come where you know not in order to escape it?”

  The girl again shook her head, and unsuccessfully tried to return her gaze toward the ground.

  “Why don’t you tell me your story?” he asked. “I have plenty of time.” He laid his stick across his lap, cupped his face in his hands, propped his elbows on his knees and waited for the girl to begin speaking.

  Children in ancient China were raised to revere the wisdom of the elders, and felt obliged to heed their requests. So in spite of her reservations, the girl sat down on the ground, crossed her legs, and told the old man about her life in the monastery. She told him how she had dreamed of becoming a great warrior of kung fu, but that she was not allowed to train because she was a girl. Then she told him of the incident with Xieng-gui, and how she had fled the monastery that night. Tears began to swell again from the girl’s eyes. She fought them, and tried to sniff them back up her nose.

  “That is indeed a sad story,” whispered the old man shaking his head. “I do not blame you; I would have ran away too. Such ideas are ridiculous! Anyone can practice kung fu, if the desire is in her heart.” Then he raised himself to his feet
with his walking stick, and said to the girl, “Come with me. I will teach you everything about kung fu that my master taught to me.”

  The girl was momentarily amazed, but jumped to her feet to follow the old man. Could this frail and feeble old man really teach her the art of kung fu? She doubted that this was the case, but she had nowhere else to go, and the prospect of a decent meal made her happy to comply.

  “What is your name, child?” the old man inquired as they slowly descended the path leading from the pond.

  “My name is ‘Girl’,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “’Girl’?”, he said incredulously. “Did I hear this right?”

  “Yes, my name is ‘Girl’.”

  “That is not a name. Do you not have a proper one?”

  “’Girl’ is what I was called at the monastery,” she said earnestly.

  “Well you should choose a new name more to your liking,” the old man rejoined. “What would you like to call yourself?”

  “’Girl’ is good enough for me.”

  “No, it is not good enough for you,” said the old man in a firm tone, “but if ‘Girl’ suits you, then I will call you that until a proper name has been borne to us on the east wind.”

  “May I ask your name?”, the girl said in a deferential tone of voice, once again reverting her eyes to the ground as they strolled down the path.

  “My name is Jai-tien,” he replied, “but from this day forward you should call me Master Jai-tien, as I will be your instructor in the art of kung fu. You will live in my house, and I will provide for all of your necessities for as long as your heart is true to your words.” The old man reached over and patted her on the head several times with a broad smile on his wrinkly old face. The girl smiled without raising her eyes from the ground.

  Jai-tien led the way down the remainder of the path to his tiny home at the foot of the steep hill that rose above the green pond. A relatively flat and grassy area of ground contained the small home, a barn of livestock, and a shed. The house looked to be very old, but had been impeccably maintained. It had only two rooms, which served as kitchen, sleeping chambers, and sitting room. In one corner stood a large iron stove that served as both an oven and a source of heat in the winter. There was a small shrine in another corner, and only a paper sliding door separated the inside of the house from the rest of the world.

  The old man fed the girl her first true meal she had eaten in what seemed like forever. Then he placed a straw mat on the floor near the stove, where she fell asleep instantly in the glorious comfort of the soft feather pillow.

  A new beginning

  The next morning, Jai-tien woke the girl at daybreak. “Girl, get up!”, he scolded. “You are wasting half the day lying there like a turtle on a log.”

  The girl awoke and rubbed her eyes. She tried to lie back down to sleep more, but Jai-tien was insistent. “Girl, awaken! There are chores to be performed before breakfast.”

  The girl arose for a second time, placed both feet into her worn sandals, and then followed the master to the corner of the room.

  “We always begin our day by praying to our ancestors,” he stated in a matter of fact tone. The girl was accustomed to this practice from her life in the monastery. They sat cross-legged on the floor before the shrine, in meditative communication with the spirit world. After thirty minutes of this activity, Jai-tien stood up and went to a small closet in another corner of the room. From this, he removed a long stick with a bundle of twigs tied to one end.

  “Your kung fu training begins now,” he said to the girl. “Take this.” He handed the stick to the girl, who grasped it with a quizzical look on her face. She held it in both hands, and looked at it with a strange expression on her face.

  “But Master,” she said, “this is a broom.”

  “Of course it is a broom! Do you think I am completely ignorant?”

  “No, Master,” she replied, “but I thought we were going to begin my kung fu training.”

  “That is exactly what we are doing,” he stated firmly.

  “But…is this a weapon of kung fu?”

  “Girl, anything can be a weapon of kung fu. But in this case, it is not a weapon of kung fu, but a tool of kung fu. We will use it to teach you that kung fu is a privilege to be earned, and not a gift. It will test your character, and I will use it to gauge when you are ready for your martial training to begin.”

  The girl was puzzled. This was not part of the training that the boys had to begin with at the monastery. Nevertheless, she but the broom to the floor and went to work.

  After she finished tidying the room, the girl ate a light breakfast that Jai-tien had prepared. “Are we going to begin training kung fu now, Master?”

  “We began training as soon as you got out of bed,” he replied. “We will continue our training now.” He next took a pail from the corner, and handed it to the girl. “Now go milk the cow in the barn behind the house, and then feed the chickens, gather the eggs, and clean their coop. And most importantly, feed the old black cat. She is very frail, and is incapable of catching her own food anymore. Never forget to feed the cat.”

  The girl left the house to do as she had been commanded. She went to the small barn behind the house and milked the cow, fed the chickens and cleaned their pen. She approached these tasks lazily and in a sour humor, since they were not what she considered to be important to kung fu. All of this took up the greater part of two hours, and her boredom and irritation continuously increased during this time. When she had finished these tasks, she remembered the master’s command to feed the old black cat, but she had not seen such a creature during her morning chores. She looked around half-heartedly for several minutes, and then shrugged her shoulders and walked back to the house with her head down.

  Jai-tien was cutting vegetables with a large-bladed knife at a table when the girl entered the house. He immediately looked up at her, and asked, “Have you fed the cat?”

  The girl shook her head, directed her eyes downward toward the floor, and stated, “I could not find the cat, Master.”

  “And how hard did you look for him?”, the old man replied, pointing at the mattress the girl had slept on the night before with his knife.

  The girl looked where he had pointed. On the mattress was an ancient black cat that had lived at least two decades. As if it had noticed her stare, the cat raised its head and stared back at the girl with the glassy eyes of near blindness. It sniffed the air twice, and then lowered its head back onto the mattress as if the previous exertion had exhausted it. The cat’s scrawny body displayed its ribs through its patchy thin fur, and each breath it inhaled seemed labored and painful.

  “I will feed him now, Master,” the girl said. Jai-tien pointed toward the stove, where a small dish of pulverized meat mixed in warm milk was waiting. The girl retrieved the food, and placed it in front of the cat. The smell of the food seemed to throw a spark into the cat, and it raised its head slowly and gingerly sat up to lap from the bowl.

  “Now I have some more tasks for you, Girl,” Jai-tien stated as he arose from the table.

  The day seemed to stretch into eternity, from one chore to the next. The girl became weary and her spirits sank. Nevertheless, she performed the chores obediently and without complaint. By the supper hour, she was ravenous and rapidly devoured the small meal that Jai-tien had prepared.

  After the meal, Jai-tien stood up and declared, “Now it is time to climb the hill to have tea in the home of my mother, Lu-chin. That is from where I came last night when I found you.” The old man picked up his stick and slowly walked from the house. The girl followed him silently up the long path toward a tiny house at the top of the hill.

  As she struggled up the hill, the girl could scarcely believe that the mother of this ancient man was still in the world of the living. “Master Jai-tien,” she began, “please tell me how old is your mother.”

  “I do not know that, Girl,” was his only reply.

  This was not
the expected reply, and the girl was puzzled.

  “And how many years do you have, Master?”

  “I do not know that, either.”

  “But Master,” she inquired, “how could you not know the answer to that question?”

  “What need have I to count years? I came into the living world on the day I was born, and I will depart from it on the day that I die. Life is but a blink of an eye. How much time I spend here is irrelevant.”

  The girl was not satisfied with this answer, and tried to estimate Jai-tien’s age. From the way that he hobbled along on his walking stick, she thought he must have at least sixty or seventy years. Again she wondered how this decrepit old man could possibly teach her the strenuous art of kung fu.

  After a long, slow march up the hill, they came to the tiny house of Mother Lu-chin. They entered after Jai-tien made a slight scraping noise with his fingernails on the frame of the paper door, first the master and then the girl. Inside was a small room with two chairs, side by side, in the center of the room. In one of them sat an old woman, the oldest woman that the girl had ever seen. She had long, snow-white hair that was tied in a bun on top of her head, and a face that was so wrinkly that her slight smile upon their arrival was barely visible. She sat in the frock of a peasant, with her frail arms propped on the arms of her chair, and her feet planted squarely on the floor in front. The girl was amazed at the apparent age of the woman. She appeared to have at least eight decades of life on her stooped shoulders, and was possibly even older than Grand Master Bai Chen.

  In one corner of the room, on a small table by an old iron stove, was a silver tea service with two tiny cups and saucers. Jai-tien pointed at the tea and then to the girl, making it clear that she was to serve the tea. He then took a seat in the empty chair beside his mother, put his hands on his knees, and closed his eyes. Not a word was spoken between the two elders.